


Tell Those Stories (As Farfetched As They May Be)

by luninosity



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) RPF
Genre: First Kiss, Flirting, Food Kink, Love Confessions, M/M, apples are delicious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-15
Updated: 2012-10-15
Packaged: 2017-11-16 08:40:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/537580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luninosity/pseuds/luninosity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James eats an apple. Michael watches and falls in love. And no one is an evil magician, honestly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tell Those Stories (As Farfetched As They May Be)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Eve 6’s “Leech”: _tell those stories to me/ I’m dying to hear the things you’ve done and seen/ as farfetched as they may be/ you strike a smile in me…_

James, apparently, isn’t capable of eating an apple like any sort of normal person.

And Michael’s equally incapable of not staring. He just can’t look away. It’s mesmerizing.

James plays with the apple in one hand for a while, first. He’s talking to someone and when James talks to people, when those morning-glory eyes open up all wide with enthusiastic excitement, he forgets about the rest of the world, including his food. But James also likes to talk with his hands, big expressive gestures that encompass the universe and beckon it into the conversation. With an apple in one hand, he can’t quite achieve that, so he’s twirling said apple around in his fingertips instead, tossing it, catching it, playing with the stem. He probably doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. And Michael watches every slide of graceful fingers across firm red flesh.

When James finally remembers that he’s holding an edible object, he looks at it with some surprise, and then takes a bite, lips stretching across the skin of the fruit, teeth sinking in, and when he pulls away there’s a perfect indentation, a ragged-edged print of that glorious mouth left in white tenderness, wet and glistening as temptation, from freed juiciness, from the pressure of those lips and teeth.

Michael’s absolutely frozen to the spot. James takes a second bite. Chews. Licks his lips, after, tongue darting out to collect the last drops of tart sweetness. And then keeps talking, evidently oblivious to the fact that fireworks are exploding under Michael’s skin, a few feet away.

It’s like original sin, if original sin had ocean-shaded eyes and hair standing merrily up because of the wind and two golden freckles on the bridge of a perfect nose. It’s like enchantment, something out of a fairy tale: _eat this apple, cast a magic spell, claim Michael for your own, James._ And it works. Poof. Just like that.

Of course it does.

James finishes his conversation. Turns around. Sees Michael watching him, because Michael has utterly forgotten how to make his feet move or inch backward or run away. And grins. “Good morning!”

He opens his mouth to answer, but finds himself staring again, helplessly, as James keeps nibbling on the damn apple. _Why_ can’t James eat food like a normal person, again, instead of practicing to become the definition of the word _tantalize_?

James follows the direction of his gaze, and the blue eyes get a little brighter, positively wicked. Maybe it _is_ an enchantment, and James is secretly an evil magician, after all. It could happen. Really.

James takes a step closer to him. Holds out the apple, now half-consumed and covered in those enticing imprints, mementos and searing souvenirs of those lips and that mouth. “Want a bite?”

“I…”

“I can share.” The eyes are dancing, in the early-morning sunlight. The light slices through crisp autumn air, somehow cool and inviting all at once, and considerately bounces a single beam off the last untouched red curve of the apple.

“Not hungry? Or just not a fan of apples?”

“I love apples,” Michael says, because it’s better than _I love you_ , though not by much.

“Hmm. Then you should try this one. It’s delicious.” James is smiling at him, smiling and offering to share, because of course James would always offer to share, anything that might make other people happy, ever: _oh, you need something? Can I help? Oh, you like apples? But you don’t have one? Here, have mine._

James could never be an evil magician. He’s too damn nice. And Michael is in love with him, completely, inarguably, with finality.

“Was that a yes?” James inquires, and takes another step closer to him. “It was a very interesting noise. Kind of a groan. Or a whimper. A groan-whimper. A—”

“Oh, _god_ ,” Michael says, and leans down and kisses him, right there, claiming those lips mid-sentence, tasting the brilliant tang of apples and the lingering sweetness of juice and a hint of chapstick and warm skin and everything that says _James_ to all his senses. Some distant last rational part of his brain is horrified, knowing that this must be a terrible idea, afraid that it can’t possibly end well, but the blue eyes are so close and that familiar Scottish voice echoes luxuriously in his ears and the scent of apples hovers everywhere in the air between them and there’s no way he can do anything else, in that moment, other than kiss James.

Who kisses him back. And smiles.

“Oh, good!”

“…what?”

“Well, I was starting to wonder whether I’d been wrong about this. It didn’t seem to be working, at first. And you just kept not answering me.”

“You were doing that _on purpose?”_

“Not at first. But then I saw you looking, so…” James grins, cheerfully smug, and Michael kisses him again, for that. Because he can. Because James wants him to.

“You’re a terrible person. That was practically obscene. And you should never be allowed near fruit. At least not in public.”

“Really? Because if this hadn’t worked, tomorrow I might’ve brought a banana.”

“You’re really not allowed near bananas. Except maybe later. Back at the hotel.” Where can he acquire bananas, between now and then? There must be a way.

“Sounds like a plan.” James is still grinning, like everything Michael’s ever wanted, right there in front of him, apple-flavored and perfect. “You never did answer me, by the way, do you want the rest of this? You did say you love apples.”

“James,” Michael says, and the words come out without any thought, without conscious intervention, “I love _you_.”

“You do?”

He does. “I do.”

“Michael?”

“Can I kiss you again?”

“Yes. And also…I love apples, too.”

“You—”

“And I love you.”


End file.
